home (is you)
by blueophelia
Summary: The memories of Will Traynor haunt her. In the most beautiful and painful ways. After losing him in Switzerland, Louisa Clark runs away to begin a new life in Paris but those six months with Will follow her. The memories of him follow her there. Louisa struggles to hold it all together until it breaks anyway, and eventually something pulls her home to Will. (Canon-Divergence. AU)


**April, 2010**

Will Traynor was right about Paris.

This was something I'd accepted within minutes of arriving in Les Marais and now, after I'd spent six months living here, it was still something that I often found myself thinking about. In his time Will had been wrong about many things, especially when it came to his very strong opinions on my outfits and acquired taste in fashion, but he was right about Paris. _Oh_ , of course he was, I thought to myself once again as I sat by one of the open windows of my apartment with a warm cup of tea pressed between my hands. I could imagine him now even as I thought about it, I could hear what he'd say and just how he would say it. His voice was always so clear in my memory lately. _Of course I'm right, Clark, I make a habit of being right. About everything,_ he would say, and I would have rolled my eyes or scoffed at him, or maybe I would have given him a small smile - and my response would depend entirely on the way he said it, the look he gave me as he said it, and whether he smiled or not. It always seemed like Will's smiles could make me smile, no matter what.

I remembered his smile the most.

Somehow Will had not just been right about Paris, but he had also been right when he'd figured out what I would need after it ended. After _him_. This place felt like him, and the memories I had of him stayed with me here. I needed to think of them sometimes, to get up on some mornings or to fall asleep on the nights when I'd stay awake for hours. I remembered almost everything Will had ever said to me, or at least I liked to tell myself that I did, and tonight I had found myself lost in thoughts about the night of Alicia's wedding. I thought about it often, and how it had felt that night when Will had confessed to me that I had been the reason he would get up some mornings.

I felt my eyes sting as I thought about it again and how time had changed so much. Now Will Traynor was the reason I got up most mornings, even though he was gone from my life. He pushed me to live more and to want it more than I ever had before. It felt like being here in Paris and thinking of Will, and the memories and marks he'd left on me, both warmed my heart and woke me up cold and breathless in the night. I still felt like I needed it, and like I would always need to keep his memory close to me.

It was difficult not to think of Will here. I'd quickly learned just how many things could remind me of him in their own little ways. The possibilities and the potential of this place reminded me of Will, and there had been so many other things here that had reminded me of him. Things that had caught me by total surprise; like a gorgeous aroma of something sweet and freshly baked floating up to meet me, or a delicious treat that would explode new and untasted flavours in my mouth and open me up to new things I'd never dreamed of before Paris or before Will.

And then there was the music. It was somehow more powerful than any of the other reminders or senses that prompted thoughts of him. It wasn't a familiar kind of music, not really, and there was nothing about it that specifically reminded me of him. It was the way it unlocked something inside of me at a time in my life when it had felt like there was nothing left to be unlocked. That was one of the ways that it reminded me of him.

The music was soft and powerful, and so lovely, and somehow it was all of these things at once. It was a beautiful creation, and when I closed my eyes I could imagine butterflies bringing the notes up to my ears, where they would settle on my body, move inside me through my veins, and find a way directly to my heart. Of all the things that the music made me think of - things like life and death, sunsets and oceans of deep blue, _his_ smile, and the feeling of his hand in mine - it made me think of Will the most. It reminded me of him, just him. Something soft, gentle, and powerful all at the same time. It was invisible, not with me but still there, just in a different kind of way now. Just like Will.

At the window I felt a gentle breeze slowly pass through the air and across my skin. I shut my eyes to it, kept one hand on the cup of tea, and stretched the other for my forehead to massage the small headache that I'd felt growing there. It had been a long day but it was always calm and quiet next to the window, that was what had drawn me to it tonight and I'd had no reason to leave it yet. The sky was dark outside and calm, it was beautiful to observe. I opened my eyes to it again, looked up, and just watched it for a while; tonight it was a faded shade of dark blue, with tiny lights of stars scattered across it. For a while I couldn't stop myself from following the patterns of the stars that were up there distantly shining. It felt endless.

I had lived here for almost seven months and each day still felt like there was a chance for a new adventure or opportunity, and I had quickly figured out that this was exactly what Will had wanted for me next. Everything was here for me to experience and try, and there was a part of me that loved that most days I still felt this way. I never felt like I could get used to Paris; it was too endlessly beautiful and new, that I knew I would continue to love it and explore it as it continued to grow around me. Most days I embraced these feelings and tried to follow new paths wherever they would lead me, because new adventures often felt wonderful and unlike anything I'd experienced before. _Most_ days I followed it. Then there were the days like today where I chose to stay in and do something quiet and small instead. I had started to think of these days as my 'not so great' days, but I knew what they were. They were my bad days, the ones spent sitting around and feeling the things I'd ignored or distracted myself from during the week. Today had been one of those days and I'd spent it in my apartment busying myself with tasks to distract myself from these thoughts.

It had felt a little bit strange at first to think of the apartment as something that was just mine. Back home I'd shared almost everything I'd ever had so it had taken a little while to adjust to it all, but eventually I'd started to feel like it was mine. It was definitely more like something that was mine now with all of my own little touches to it, I thought, as I turned away from the window and slowly glanced around the apartment. I found myself almost smiling as I gazed upon the bright pillows, the bold throw rugs, and the lovely paintings I'd picked out and placed on the walls. It felt real now, unlike the start when I had felt like a stranger lived here. Now it felt like it was between the two, like the new me and a strange, empty version of the old me lived here. I had never imagined myself living somewhere like this and eventually there had been a moment where it had clicked that I, Louisa Clark, lived in Paris. I had a nice apartment, with a good view, and friendly neighbours. It had definitely taken me some time to accept all of that but slowly I had, and most days I was happy here.

The first thing I really remember thinking about this place was that it was large. Much larger than anything I'd lived in before, excluding the Traynor's place, of course. Here it was so different from anywhere else I'd lived, with its large open layout for everything except the bathroom. On my first visit here I'd discovered that the bathroom and the laundry was tucked away for privacy off to the right of the apartment, while the rest of the place was just out in the open. I had quickly loved it. The bathroom was sleek and elegant, and although it was probably just a pretty average looking bathroom for most people, for me it was great. With a simple layout and colour scheme of grey and white, I thought it was pretty special and I'd really liked how I could actually stretch my legs out in the tub. Not that I was a very tall person, it had just been nice and it still was.

I smiled a little at that thought, stretched back into the armchair, and then looked out of the window again. Some nights I would get so lost when I looked out of the windows and dreamed about everything. Tonight, I thought about what else there was left for me to do around the apartment before I could finish my work. There was some laundry waiting to be folded, but I decided to leave it for now and I took another sip of the warm tea instead. The smile stayed there on my lips, half-stretched, because I thought of Treena next. It surprised me enough that thinking of her could make me smile like this now, but I guessed it was because of how different things had been between us lately.

We'd both been far more tolerant and kinder to each other lately, and we both knew why. I almost laughed when I thought about one of our conversations after I had first moved in here. Treena had sent me a video-call through Skype and had insisted that I describe the entire apartment to her, because pictures weren't enough and she needed to know absolutely everything about the place. Apparently it hadn't been a good enough description, because she'd needed to know more and, as she had told me that _everything meant everything_ , I couldn't leave a single thing out.

So that had been the first and one of the last times I'd carried my laptop around my apartment with Treena on the other end, in my attempt to show her everything. It hadn't been a surprise to me that she'd fallen in love with it. It definitely seemed like something that would suit her but it was also something that suited me now. She seemed mostly happy for me, that was _after_ she'd yelled a little too loudly (and a little jealously, at first) about how lucky I was to have something like that and how happy she was for me. Later I had thought about our conversation and realised why it had felt so strange, and it was because she had called me lucky. It wasn't like I believed that I was unlucky because I knew that there were so many people who had it worse than I did, it was just that I hadn't considered myself lucky in a long time.

Now that I was finished with my tea, I set the cup down and looked around my apartment again. I ended up thinking about my cupboards, which I'd sorted today and would finish cleaning out tomorrow. The cupboards ran against the right wall, to the right once you step out of the bathroom, and weirdly enough a few cupboards had quickly become one of my favourite things about this place. They were embedded into the wall in a way that wasn't obvious, just like they were part of the wall, and I often got distracted by the string of lights that hung down off the grey wire above them. I'd discovered that when I was half-asleep, or even a little drunk, that if I looked up at them and shut my eyes just enough that it would make the lights look like they were moving or dancing. Treena and I used to love doing that when we were little, especially with the bright lights at Christmas. It made me think of home, in a way that felt rare and good.

The cupboards had been empty when I'd first arrived here but I'd started to fill them slowly, mostly with belongings from home at first and then I'd started to find new things here and that had helped it all feel real. It really hadn't taken me too long to fill them up with new things from here, things for the new me, and soon I'd filled them with more than I'd imagined I could or would want to. It was probably the moment that I had started to feel like a person was living here and not just the ghost of a girl who had loved and lost a boy.

My eyes wandered across from the pine cupboards and right over to one of my other favourite things in this place: the gloriously long, comfortable couch where I had spent plenty of nights and days sleeping, working, and doing absolutely nothing on. I had quickly purchased some pillows with big, bold patterns and colours to contrast against the colour of the couch and it worked. I'd also been pretty much hypnotized with the colours of the pillows the first time I'd seen them that there had been no way I could have left without them.

Quietly I realised that even though my apartment felt like it was a stranger's sometimes, it was mine. It was filled with many of my favourite things, and another of those things included the books and movies that I had filled up a bookshelf with. It was a large, tall bookshelf that stood there right at the end of the couch. It had been empty at first too but I'd slowly filled it up with new things that I'd found during my time here. Some of the movies even had subtitles, and every time I picked one with subtitles I thought about Will. I thought about how he might mock me for it at first, teasingly, in his way, and then I thought about how he would probably be proud of me. That was something that I thought about a lot, as I purchased the films. They had become pretty special to me and I'd made a promise to myself that I would really watch them, and not just the kind of watch them where you don't pay attention, or you fall asleep, _or_ you watch as a distraction from your life. I promised myself and Will that I would really watch them. I knew it was probably a bit weird, that I felt like I needed to watch them to keep learning from them like I had back in Will's Annex, but I didn't mind. I watched them, and learned from them, and opened my mind up to more things I probably wouldn't have experienced without Will.

It had actually been quite hard to watch them without him though, especially at first. There had been times when I hadn't noticed it too much, but then there had also been moments when I'd been keenly aware that Will Traynor's gaze was not there fixed on me, waiting, and that when I looked over I wouldn't find him there with a raised eyebrow and a question for me. I'd grown to love his questions and his company and now they had become something else that I had missed. Apart from those thoughts and that pain, I had enjoyed the experience of most things inside this apartment. That also included my very poor attempts at growing flowers and keeping them alive. Some had worked, others really hadn't worked, and right now I had three alive and growing happily in the sunlight of my windowsill, right near the sink. I counted that as a success especially compared to last month, and the one before it. I'd first picked them out as a way to bring some more life into my apartment, and as a task to do each day, _or_ as Treena had so kindly tried to put it (or really, not kindly at all, just idiotically): It was my way of keeping something alive.

The best part of my apartment would probably have to be my bedroom. I hadn't realised how strange that statement sounded until I'd announced it to Treena on Skype and she promptly burst into a fit of laughter, then mocked me for it later. I hadn't really cared because it really was my favourite place, just not for the reason she'd had a laugh at me for. It was special to me because it was almost hidden away. Behind the bookshelf near the couch, and attached to the ceiling above it, there was a sliding door that was really like a sliding piece of wall. Thick, and made of wood. It could be pulled out to cover the entrance to my room, concealing my room totally, or it could be hidden and then it would open everything up. I'd loved it from the first time I looked at it.

There was something beautifully simplistic about my room. I'd struggled to find the right words at first but that was how I felt about it now. In the middle of the room there was my bed, large and comfortable with rows of soft cushions and undoubtedly the best mattress I'd ever owned. With brown rustic tables on each side of my bed that I'd picked out from a boutique, and little lamps on each one, it felt like something that was mine. The ceiling was pretty high, with wooden beams running across it. I counted them sometimes, or I'd just stare up there for hours. Behind the back of the door there was a mirror that I would often rush to get ready in front of when I was late.

The rest of the room was pretty simple, but there was one more thing I really liked about it. It was the lamp in the corner of the room. Thin and tall, on a brown stand, it stood in the corner of the room with the light-bulb itself encased in a glass cone. On one of my first nights here I'd switched off all the lights except this one, climbed into bed, then realised that because of how closely it was pushed into the corner of the wall that it sort of looked like the sun shining up out of the lamp and against the wall. Little things like that had always had ways of making me quietly happy, and sometimes I'd just leave the light on for a while and imagine that I was somewhere else watching the sun set or rise. Somewhere beautiful, and distant. Then, next to my little lamp, there was the window that I looked out of and could usually get a nice view from, especially on the days when I sat at my desk and looked out of it. I'd always been a bit of a dreamer, and even losing Will hadn't changed that totally. That was pretty much it in my room, and somehow it was all I'd needed.

Finished with my tea and my temporary star-gazing for now, I left the armchair and carried the cup back over to the sink to rinse it. The kitchen wasn't something that I'd been too good at using first, since Mum had really loved to cook for us at home, but it was something I'd learned more in and taught myself more about during my time here. There had been days where I'd been so proud I'd share a picture of it later with Treena and then there were days that I'd clean up the chaotic aftermath of my failed attempts at cooking and I'd go out to a café instead.

It was always painful to think of Mum and how we had left things. I had been so caught up in Will and Switzerland that when it was all over I hadn't really stopped to think about what would be left for me when I returned, or what would change. I'd only thought about how my life would be different without Will in it, not about how it would be without my family in it. Mum had been true to her word and when I'd returned my things were all packed, Dad helped me move them, and since that day I'd only spoken to him through the occasional letter or a note in an email from Treena. Sometimes Treena and I would talk through Skype, but we also wrote each other letters when we could because the calls cost too much to do too often. I'd wrote to Mum once at the start but she never answered, and even though Treena had insisted that eventually Mum would forgive me I knew that deep down she never would.

I still remembered the exact way that Mum had looked at me when I'd left for Switzerland, like I had chosen Will and the choice he was making over her and everything that she'd ever believed in. I knew that even though our family wouldn't always be fractured or separated by distance and arguments, she would never forgive me. I'd slowly learned and accepted that it wasn't my fault, Will had needed me and I had needed to be there for him, and however that had hurt Mum had never been my fault.

The kitchen was long and made of marble and tiles. I stretched a hand out to the bench when I reached it, sighed, and steadied myself against it for a minute. It still hurt to think of Mum, even the little things hurt. We had shared so much before and now all I had from her was silence and distance, and even though I knew there wasn't anything else I could do to fix things I still couldn't help but think about it. I thought about Mum for a little while before I stopped, cleaned my cup at the sink, and stepped away. It was a big enough kitchen for me, someone who only cooked occasionally. The fridge was stocked with essentials and then more, just treats or snacks I'd pick up during the week. I kept a few glasses stacked on top of the fridge with empty jugs and vases, to fill with water or flowers when I needed them, and then there were other shelves much higher on the wall that I could only reach if I really stretched (or if I used a small step-ladder). I'd recently stocked them up with plates and glasses, not that I really had people over here often. In my six months here I'd had a few people over, mostly people I'd considered potential friends from work, who all seemed pretty content with their own lives and friends but still came over for dinner a few times. Mostly I just filled the shelves to make it feel like a home and so far it had seemed to work.

After I finished rinsing my cup I cleaned up the rest of the dishes and looked out of the window at the sink. It was right at the sink and it opened up to a view of the ground below, I could get so lost looking at it sometimes that I'd forget I was cleaning dishes. The view from the window showed a clear view of courtyard in our apartment complex, I was on the fourth level, so high but not too far from the ground. From my window in the kitchen I could see the garden; it was small and rectangular courtyard, with stone pavement around it and green vines spreading up over the walls around it. Right in the middle of the courtyard there was a fountain, and then around it in random corners there were tiny gardens and potted plants that the other people who lived here would grow and care for. There was a space for mine but I hadn't grow anything in it yet, I always told myself I would but it was just something that hadn't happened yet.

A moment passed, and I left the kitchen to return to the main area. My work was waiting for me to finish it. It waited with my laptop, and about a hundred pieces of scattered paper filled with ideas, notes, and sketches that I'd sort later. The table was long and painted a bright blue, I'd picked it out and the chairs to go with it from a nice store not far from my apartment. There was enough space for at least six people around it but it wasn't like I needed that much space, or needed to seat that many people at dinner, I'd just really liked the colour and thankfully I'd had help getting it back to my apartment. It was a great space to spread my work out over, which reminded me of what I'd been putting off all night.

Tonight I needed to finish my column - which, yes, was one of the strangest thoughts I'd had while living here because, _who would ever want fashion advice from Louisa Clark?_ People wanting good fashion tips to look gorgeous, that was who, apparently. I'd spent a few months starting my course and out of almost nowhere I'd been offered a job with an online site that was sort of popular. It was popular enough that it paid well and my columns did get views and good comments. Apparently, people didn't mind my advice too much and they actually liked the honesty and simplicity of it all. I shared tips on creating their own fashion, and how I created mine. It was fun, most of the time. When I'd first found out I got a job I had cried, and then I'd cried harder when I'd realised there hadn't been anyone to share it with at first. After that night I had slowly learned to just be happy with myself, when I couldn't share it with anyone else.

My life had changed so unexpectedly since I'd arrived here, it had been so much to take in. I'd struggled to adapt to it all at first but after every outing or adventure it had all felt a little more real. Despite how unreal it all felt, things felt a little more together now, and after six months in Paris I had my own place, a few work friends, and a very good job, and on top of all of that I was studying and writing pieces (not work related, or fashion, just pieces I kept to myself). I'd been drawing, too. Sketches for outfits and clothes, and drawings of whatever came to me. I had never been so productive in my entire life and it was all because of Will. I had potential, he'd been right about that too, and it wasn't just _that_ change in me that I'd noticed. I had changed so much, who I was had been altered because of Will, and I knew that I would never return from it. I didn't want to. I was still myself but I was different now, because of him.

 _How had I lived six months with Will Traynor in my life, and then six without him?_ I often asked myself, _Where had our time gone?_

On the table with all of my other things there was a notebook that I'd recently been attempting drawings and sketches of designs in. I sat down at the table, leaned back into the plump cushion of the chair, and I reached for the book to tidy up the pages that fell out or needed to be placed back inside. Then I tided up the table a little, because working with all of the mess around me usually wasn't helpful or productive. I reached for my laptop once it was all tidy, pulled it closer, and tried to focus on what needed to be done. It seemed that whenever I thought of Will that would be it, and it would be all I could think about for hours after until I'd really push myself to focus. I should have cared more that these thoughts distracted me often but I didn't, I liked to think of him as much as I could.

They were memories that I held close. Special things that I couldn't let go of, not easily, and I didn't want to let go of them. I liked thinking of him because it let me feel like he was still here, close to me somehow. At the table I set my laptop back down, leaned back into the chair and shut my eyes for a moment. I drew in a deep breath of air slowly and silently encouraged myself that I could do this. I'd survived almost seven months without him, I could keep going, and I would keep going, but inside I knew something that I had accepted from the very moment Will had left my life.

All of the exciting and wonderful things in my life could never permanently distract me from the aching loss inside me that Will leaving had left me with. It was something that would always be there, like there was actually a hole there inside my heart because I'd lost him. It would always be there and it was just something I'd have to find a way to live with, now that I had to keep learning how to live without him.

* * *

I used to love dreaming when I was little. Once, when I was nine or ten, I had a dream about a magical forest. It was wonderful and green, and in every corner there was light. It was filled with fairies and wild creatures, and magical things that felt so alive. It had all felt so real that when I woke that morning I had convinced myself that I had been there. That somehow I had found my way there, so every night after I tried to visit it again. Sometimes I did and I was there again, but it was never the same as that first dream there.

It hadn't just felt like an escape, or like everything was endless and possible. It had felt real. I'd never had a dream like that again - so vivid, and beautiful, and bright - until my first month in Paris when I dreamt of Will. There wasn't a forest or anything magical there in that dream. It was simple, soft, and real. In that dream we'd been in bed together, it was his bed, and Will had been there on his side facing me. With that smile on his lips that I'd fallen so deeply in love with, the one where his lips would slowly curve into the smile and the corners of his eyes would crinkle with happiness. It was so lovely and full, and so real.

I had reached out to him in the dream. I found his hand, locked our fingers together gently, and I held on to him with everything that I had. Will had been smiling at me and there had been something about him that had felt so alive. I'd been so convinced that it was real that when I woke up to my dark, quiet room and empty bed I cried. I had sobbed from the honest shock that my bed was empty and that my hand was not slipped gently around his.

Tonight I'd dreamed of Will again. We'd been on a beach together somewhere, it wasn't clear where, not like the first one. This dream had been obscured by the faded, blue waves that rolled up towards us. It was a short dream, we were barely there before I was gone and then I'd woken up cold again. I was tired of dreaming, now. I tugged the covers of my bed up around me, stretched for the wine on the stand by the bed, and I managed to pour myself a glass. It was good wine, and I liked the way it loosened the tension and dulled my thoughts a little. It helped me to think a little less sometimes, and I needed that. Treena had asked me once at the start if I thought of Will often, in one of her letters to me, and I had lied. I'd told her _yes_ at the start I'd thought about him every day and now I only thought of him every few days or so, but the truth was that I thought of Will always. He was so much a part of who I was now that I couldn't escape him, or the thoughts of him, even if I had wanted to. I may have hated the dreams that left me tired or crying after, but I would choose to keep having dreams of him forever if it meant that I could see him again.

Once I filled my glass up again, I sighed, lifted it to my lips and leaned back. My room was dark around me, I'd turned off the lights hours ago and had planned to read for a while but that obviously hadn't worked out. I could feel the lines on my face from where I must have fallen asleep against the pages of the book and I rubbed at them tiredly. Then I leaned back further in bed, pressed my back firmly against the headboard behind me, and I took another sip. I'd never been too much of a wine drinker before. I had liked beer and vodka, and whatever else effectively got me drunk, but I hadn't wanted to do that too much lately. The wine here was nice, I'd quickly grown to love the taste of it, and the way it sort of lingered for a while.

More thoughts of Will returned to my mind as I sipped from my glass again, and then slowly I found myself thinking back to home. I wondered what Treena was doing right now, or what Mum and Dad were doing, and then I thought of Granddad and Thomas, and it made me sad. I finished my wine, looked out of the window near the end of my bed, and through the thin curtains I could see the view. Faintly. It looked hazy and distant because of the curtains, and the space between my bed and the window, but it was nice. There was a slight shimmer to it all because of the curtains. For some reason it made me think of Will's Annex again, and not because of the view because they weren't even remotely the same, it just made me think of him and that house. Every time that I started to feel like I was forgetting Will or anything important about that place I'd write it down, or try to sketch it, because I never wanted to forget.

I reached for the bottle of wine again from the stand, filled my glass about half-way, and reminded myself that my column was due tomorrow to be read before publishing and I needed to finish it in the morning. Then I was overdue for a Skype call with Treena in the morning, we'd been so busy lately we'd put it off over the last few weeks and talked occasionally through letters instead. I knew I couldn't miss it, we hadn't spoken much lately but when we did it felt like we were closer. Time and distance, and what I'd been through in Switzerland, had brought us closer. We talked more now than we did before, and I knew why that was. It was the same reason why Dad tried to send emails or letters with Treena's, or why Treena sent me drawings from Thomas, so I'd have something bright and colourful from home to make me smile for a bit. I knew why she did it, and why Dad tried, it was because of Will. It was the same reason why Nathan and the Traynor's hadn't been able to talk to me after it had all ended.

Nathan had sent me a few emails since Switzerland, but those had mostly been during my first two months here and they had been messages just checking in that I was alright. I knew that it would have been hard on him too, so at first I tried to answer, but my replies to Nathan had been short and rare, like his to me, because we'd never had the right words for each other. All I'd received from the Traynor's had been a card signed from them, in Camilla's writing, thanking me for everything. That had been all and I'd never wanted anything else, I could never give anything else to them anyway. I buried the cards and letters in a box in my apartment, moved Nathan's emails to a folder on my email so I would only find them when I wanted to, and I tried not to think about it but it was hard.

The letter from Will ended up in a different box, along with that card he'd sent me so long ago. Sometimes I pulled them out, carried them to the table, and read them for a while, but lately I'd stopped myself from doing that. I remembered all of it, I didn't need to read it to remember it, because I'd memorised parts of it. _Live well. Just live_ , he'd asked of me, and I often thought about it. I wondered what Will would think of my life now or what he would think of me and who I'd become. I also wondered if I'd lived up to what he'd wanted for me. _Had I lived well?_

I had spent so much time exploring the city and the land beyond it. I'd gone on tours, small hikes, and I'd tried to dive so deep into the experiences of this new world so I could fully experience everything he'd wanted for me and more. I sometimes wondered if it would have been enough but I knew that he would probably understand how short six months could seem, and how it had taken me so long to just get out there and want to live again, and try these new things. I'd done so much for Will but I had also done so much for myself. I'd purchased a new camera, gone to a class to learn how to use it properly and take half-decent shots, and then I'd started taking photographs. I would hire a car sometimes, drive around, and I'd explore whatever I could. I'd end up taking walks with my camera and my books and I would try to visit new places I'd never been to. There, I would walk across large open spaces of green or paths of pebble next to lakes of soft blue, and I'd keep walking until my legs ached or I found something I wanted to capture. Something I wanted to remember with a photograph, because even though photographs weren't as good as memories they still helped to capture moments.

There were galleries throughout Paris I'd visited, and boutiques I'd built up the courage to go into even if they seemed daunting (or slightly intimidating) from the outside. I purchased daring outfits, even by my standards, and learned new recipes. I even started to attempt to learn to speak French and I'd very gradually built up my confidence to use it in my daily tasks. There were concerts, musicals, and exhibitions I'd visited too. I had tried so hard to live well and just live in the moment that I would often forget how alone I was. Not that I was always alone, I had Treena and the friends I'd made here, but I hadn't really connected with any of them in the way I'd hoped to, or in a way that I'd connected to anyone I'd had in my life before them.

And I'd told no one about Will because it was just something I couldn't do. It wasn't something that I knew how to talk about and even if I did there was no beginning that I could start with. I kept his letter hidden from myself and anyone else because I couldn't talk about it, and I tried only to think of it whenever I needed a little push. The only person that I talked about Will with was Ritchie, sometimes online, but we talked about other things too and I tried to visit him online as often as I could to talk. I talked to Treena about Will at the start, and I'd been surprised by how much she could distract me when I needed it. She would try to find a hundred distractions in the one conversation just to help me.

Sometimes Treena would even surprise me by bringing Thomas over to Skype, to wave at me through the screen of the computer and he'd try to touch my hand or hug me. I'd cry because I missed him, and then he would do something to make me smile or laugh and I'd realise just how much I missed all of them. I hadn't told Treena yet, or anyone else, but I had planned to go back to England eventually. In a few months, maybe. I had been thinking about going home in six more months. That meant I would have been away from there for a year, then back for a few weeks, and it seemed like it would work. But, of course, beyond that I hadn't decided on much - like how I would visit and not see Mum, and it wasn't like I even wanted to avoid her. I wanted to see her and tell her everything, and I wanted to hear about how their lives had changed in the last six months, since Dad's job would have helped them so much. I wanted those things but I just couldn't see it happening. Thinking of it pushed me to drink a little more wine. I tried not to let myself feel too sad about it all, because it wasn't something that I could change. I had tried to reach out to Mum, I'd sent my letter, and I'd done all that I could without compromising how I'd felt about this. I could never apologise for what Will needed and I never would.

I had carried the weight of Dignitas and Will for _so_ long, that after it I thought I'd have my family there, supporting me. I thought I'd have my Mum there, since she had nurtured and supported me since I was born, and I thought she might have realised just how much I'd needed her after Will was gone but it hadn't ended like that. There was almost nothing I could have done to change it all, I knew that, but it still hurt me to think of it. I wouldn't let it stop me from going home though, because I'd been away for a long time and I was sure Thomas had grown so much in this time, and Treena would probably be different now too. I'd just have to find a way to figure it out and make it work, even though I really wasn't the expert on what worked and what didn't since I was up, somewhere past 1 AM in the morning, drinking wine just to stop myself from dreaming about my -

My, _what?_

I stopped suddenly and thought about it. Will had never been my boyfriend. We'd been friends, and I had loved him, in a deeper way that I'd never felt before. We had kissed, but we'd never had the chance to be more than what we were and I currently had no idea what that was. I thought about him often and what he was to me, I'd just never given it a name. _Was he my love?_

That thought definitely warranted more wine. I tipped a little more into my glass, tightened the lid back on the bottle when I was finished so I wouldn't have more, then I put it down on the floor and left it out of reach. I finished my glass, set it down on the stand when I was done, and I slowly leaned back into the cushions across the bed. I couldn't stop thinking about Will now. I realised this, along with the new kind of tiredness that I felt set in.

I thought about the letters I'd written, instead of the dreams I was trying to fight off. I kept those letters hidden away in a box, because I'd convinced myself that keeping the letters hidden would make it easier. It never did. I wrote to Will and only to him. This was something else that I'd kept to myself because no one would understand. I couldn't tell Dad, he wouldn't get it, and there was no telling Treena because she'd worry or she'd tell Mum and I'd wanted to avoid both of those things. So I kept it to myself. They were mine, from me to Will. Never to be sent anywhere, never to be opened or read by anyone else, just there to exist and to allow me empty my thoughts on to paper.

It had all started after I had read Will's letter. I'd felt like I needed to write something back to him. There had been no one to talk to sometimes, Treena could only carry so much with her own life, and I could never confide in Mum or Dad. I wrote to Will instead, because I needed to, and because even though I knew the letters would never be read I needed to tell him these things. I needed to tell Will that he was right about Paris and how I loved it so much already. I wrote about it all; the sights, the wonderful scents, and the beautiful colours. And then sometimes I wrote about the pain. I'd write him letters, quiet and broken, about how much I missed him. _Why wasn't it enough_? I'd almost asked several times, as if I hadn't already known the answer to this question for a very long time.

I wrote to Will with questions that I felt I needed answers to, and I wrote to him answers that I'd needed him to know. Things I should have said sooner. I wrote to him a story of love and loss, and the life I'd experienced after him. I sealed each letter, hid it away deep in a box where it couldn't be reached, and I left it. Will was gone now, this was something that I knew and something I'd thought of often, but I still wrote the letters because I'd needed to. They helped me cope, and helped me to figure out the words to how I was feeling some days. I'd never read any of them again once they were finished - some I wrote on bad days, some on good nights - they were mostly filled with memories of love and pain, and I'd never wanted to read them again after they were sealed.

Outside of my room, down in the street, I could see the street-lights continuing to burn their soft shades of orange. It glowed against the darkness of the sky, and inside my apartment. I shut my eyes just enough that it blurred my vision and as I started to fall asleep I watched them. I watched the lights as they flickered and danced, just for me. The wine hadn't helped to dull my dreams or thoughts like I'd hoped it would, and even with the memory of the dancing lights burning fresh in my memory, when my eyes shut to the darkness I could only see him. I imagined us somewhere out _there;_ Somewhere with soft streets, darkened, and lined with an orange glow. I could see us there together, and I could do nothing but shut my eyes and welcome the thoughts of Will Traynor, sun-kissed and grinning at me like he once had, what now felt like a lifetime ago.

* * *

 **note:** hi! So before you continue to read this fic, you should know a few things. first, it's set the end of the first book/movie and follows the idea that Louisa moved to Paris to cope with what happened. I haven't read the second book and won't be following it, and I hope you'll like what I've come up with. the second thing you should know is that it (clearly) follows Louisa's POV and will focus on her relationships with her family, and with nathan and the traynors. This is going to be a long, slow burn fic and I hope you're ready.

the last thing you should know is the most important: this story is canon-divergence. meaning that I won't be following what happens at the end of the first book, or what happens in the movie. I have changed the severity of Will's injuries for this fic. This is a recovery fic for Will. I don't want to give too much away by writing this note here but I feel like I need to make it absolutely clear that by writing in this recovery for Will from less severe injuries, and by possibly writing in a happy ending for the two of them I am in no way erasing what happened in the books or implying anything/sending a message about real life experiences, situations, relationships, or people. All I wanted to do was take two characters from a story and write a fic that diverges from canon for them. I wanted to write a story for them that made me very happy to write, and helped in a lot of ways. That's all & I hope you'll enjoy reading this as much as I have enjoyed writing it.

 **xo**


End file.
